


First Breath after a Coma

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, contemplating the Machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decides to celebrate being alive and human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Breath after a Coma

**Author's Note:**

> I was introduced to the band Explosions in the Sky today and their music has inspired me like no other. The title for this piece was taken from their song [First Breath after a Coma](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCA689lvfpI). Check them out, you won't regret it. 
> 
> I wrote this as a character study and also as a reminder that you are precious in your humanness. Imperfect, sure, but you are _alive_ and you are _beautiful_ and you should go celebrate. Let's celebrate every day of our lives.

The waves crashed over the rocks below, sea spray catching in the wind as a result. At three in the morning, the breeze that came off of the tumultuous sea felt cold and bitter, but John didn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really, as the cold salty air breathed life back into his bones. He’d agreed to return to his job, to the numbers, and Harold. It had been the only reasonable response and really, if he thought hard about it, his only real choice. Even though Harold had been willing to let him go the Machine hadn’t. Somehow he was snared in its web and while the world moved forward unaware he would never experience the ignorant bliss of the layman again. 

John wondered a lot about the Machine, especially in his time of absence. Carter’s loss had been too much for a while and he retreated to his former home to lick his wounds and make an attempt to understand the situation he’d fallen into. While there, he considered what the Machine really meant in the world. When he worked for the CIA and even during his time in the military everything was planned out for him. He followed orders, completed tasks, and he did it all well. There was nothing else in the world for him other than his work and it all seemed ordinary. Even working with Kara was ordinary in comparison to what he was presently involved with. 

When Harold first explained the Machine to him he accepted it and its place in the world. He trusted that the Machine was a well coded computer that would help him save lives. It never occurred to him, at least early on, that it was anything more than a computer. Nor did Harold ever insinuate that it was something more than hard drives, RAM, and lines of code. 

No, John had to figure that part out on his own when Root stepped into their lives and tore Harold away from him. 

The memory still irked him and his lips curled into a scowl. 

Before he could get lost in his rage he took a breath and focused on the sounds of the sea, peering out into the darkness. There was a lighthouse in the distance, its light flashing comfortingly in the dark to his right, situated on a large, jutting cliff. He inhaled, counted to three, and exhaled and was grounded again in the moment. John pulled his coat tighter before he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, hoping to warm them against his thighs. 

Artificial intelligence. They were two simple words that had meant nothing to John before he began his work with Harold. Artificial intelligence was just a science fiction construct, something that could be explored in the world of literature and film, not in reality. Life was not supposed to be something out of a novel by Isaac Asimov but somehow the world caught up to literary imagination. At first he had denied this fact and attempted to explain it away. The Machine couldn’t really think for itself, it had to be tamable, it couldn’t be that different from his own laptop or any other program. 

Yet it could, it wasn’t, and it was. 

Somewhere between his childhood, the military, Jessica, the CIA, and Harold, technology had finally hit a crescendo and became something more than its creators probably ever intended. Underneath the uneasy feelings, John realized he had a certain measure of admiration for the man who made it all happen.  
He exhaled slowly and turned, eyes searching for a camera he knew was out there somewhere. It knew where he was and that fact was equally comforting and disarming. John cast one last glance at the churning, dark Atlantic water in front of him before he made his way to his car. 

At first he considered going home but ended up leaving his car on the street so he could walk to the library. It was four thirty in the morning by the time he arrived and Bear greeted him at the gate. It meant Harold was there and John was grateful because he wanted to see him, to know him, to reassure himself that in a world of machines there was still blood pumping in his veins. 

Harold glanced up at him briefly in greeting and turned back to his computers but John didn’t give him the chance. The distance between them was closed in an instant and Harold was pulled out from his chair, their lips crashing together. John could taste the salt on his own lips as his tongue pressed into Harold’s mouth and the smaller man obliged. His partner seemed to get his bearings because a moment later they were tangled up in each other’s arms. 

John had one arm around Harold’s waist, the other on his cheek as he took short breaths between kisses. One of Harold’s hands had curled in John’s jacket while the other gripped his shoulder as their hips rolled together and they both groaned. 

“John,” Harold gasped and John relished the way the other man shuddered in his arms, “not that I,” their lips pressed together in another kiss, “don’t enjoy a surprise,” another kiss and before Harold can get a word in his mouth is covered by John’s and he is moaning, “but, s-stop, John. John.” Now Harold was saying his name softly and touching his face and John finally looked and _saw_ , panting, his body trembling. He felt a hand slide soothingly through his hair, strong fingertips massaging his scalp, and John’s grip on Harold loosened. 

He brushed their noses together and then pressed his face into Harold’s shoulder and inhaled, grounding himself, breathing in, counting to three, and exhaling. 

“John.” Harold whispered softly, lips brushing the shell of his ear as his fingertips continued to work through John’s hair before slipping down to the back of his neck, massaging gently. 

“As I was saying,” Harold’s voice was still soft and comforting, “I enjoy a surprise but it is nearly five o’clock in the morning and you are shaking. It is enough to set off a few warning bells.” 

Bear was pacing behind them, John could hear his nails clicking on the floor and the confused, questioning wuffles and whines he emitted as he did so. John whispered a command to be calm in Dutch and the dog dutifully retired to his bed, no doubt watching the two for any further sign of trouble. 

John tilted his head and pressed his lips to Harold’s pulse, allowing the even beats to calm his mind. After a long moment of silence he finally lifted his head and peered at Harold, studying his face. There was concern, affection, and the slightest measure of confused irritation in the older man’s expression and it made John laugh softly. 

“Mr. Reese?” Harold asked, probably feeling left out as he couldn’t understand what was so funny about the situation. 

“I needed to be reminded that we’re alive, Harold.” John murmured in explanation, his arms still resting around his partner’s waist. “In a world of machines and numbers we are alive and we are human and we are perfect in our humanness.” Harold lifted a hand and pressed it to John’s forehead and then to the back of his neck. 

“Mr. Reese, are you feeling alright?” He asked, head tilted ever so slightly to the right, “because you’re acting quite strangely. Of course we’re human. Of course we’re alive. I mean, unless you consider the fact the world believes us both to be dead men, but aside from that we are very alive.” Now Harold was smiling and John felt the tension easing from his shoulders. 

“Let’s celebrate, then.” John insisted, staring straight into Harold’s eyes as he watched a variety of emotions and considerations flick across them. 

“Celebrate being alive, John?” Harold sought out confirmation and John gave it to him in the form of a warm kiss against which the shorter man hummed thoughtfully. 

“I suppose there is always something to celebrate.” He murmured with a smile when they pulled apart, fingertips ghosting along John’s jaw affectionately. “How do you propose we celebrate our alive-ness,” John appreciated the way Harold’s smile slipped into what could be considered a grin, “because I’m open to whatever would please you most.” 

John leaned in and whispered a list of ways he would like to celebrate into Harold’s ear and was delighted to watch the blush creep up the other man’s neck. 

“This feels like the first breath after a coma,” John suggested after a moment of silence, smiling at Harold who seemed amused. 

John was alive, he was human, and they were going to celebrate.


End file.
